


until the end of the world

by broship_addict



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Post-Canon, a lot of cuddling and flirting and the opposite of a mid-life crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 11:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12167673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broship_addict/pseuds/broship_addict
Summary: Twenty years, two cats, and a whole lot of sports-related injuries later, they're still home.





	until the end of the world

**Author's Note:**

> for an anon who prompted domestic andreil, cookies to anyone who can figure out what the title's from

A fumble with keys, then a rattle as the doorknob turns. While no sound comes from the swing of the door, Neil enters the apartment calling, “Honey, I’m home,” and that makes more of a racket than it would’ve if he’d just slammed it against the adjacent wall.

Andrew, who has long since become used to this particular part of their routine, merely grunts in response. Their mocking attempts to imitate the horrors of heteronormative domesticity is something shared between two men who have finally found themselves settling into a relatively uneventful life, and Andrew cherishes it even if it isn’t worth the breath to say so.

Over the screams of the boring thriller he’s watching, Andrew can hear the clatter of Neil’s keys as they’re dropped into the little dish that the Boyd-Wilds children had made for them, the thud of the door’s latch being put into place, the shuffling of Neil struggling out of his running shoes because he always refuses to undo the laces. He flips through the channels as Neil stumbles into the living room, reeking of and drenched in sweat. His hair is half plastered to his face and half valiantly reaching for the ceiling - courtesy of that goddamned bandana - and the only thing that Andrew appreciates about this particular image is the fact that Neil’s legs in those tiny short-shorts still look tantalizingly good.

Neil tosses a candy bar his way - a fancy-flavoured KitKat from the Asian corner store three blocks down the street - and he would have missed horribly had Andrew’s reflexes not been as good as they are. Without a racquet Neil’s a useless shot, and Andrew raises a single eyebrow at him judgingly.

“Oh, fuck off,” Neil tells him, grabbing an old Palmetto water bottle from the fridge. “I’m taking a shower.”

“Better clean your mouth while you’re at it,” Andrew says boredly. He pauses long enough on a cooking show to unwrap his bar, but hastily changes it again once the big box of spinach is brought out. At his feet their puppy - a loud and excitable thing that Amelia had somehow managed to convince them to take in - gazes hopefully at the candy.

Andrew takes care to keep it far out of her reach, because he’s not cleaning up dog vomit and he refuses to listen to Neil complain about letting Cerberus eat chocolate.

He’s busy trying to choose between leaving the TV on  _ Mythbusters _ or switching to  _ Jeopardy _ when Neil finally comes out of the shower, flushed pink from the heat and scrubbing at his wet hair with a towel so the ends stick up even more. That decides it, Andrew thinks, and sets the remote down. Neil gets bored to death watching game shows.

(He nearly changes his mind when Neil leaves the towel draped over the back of a dining chair, since they both know it irritates him, but in the end all he does is huff in exasperation.)

“Hey,” Neil says, finally coming to stand in front of Andrew. It’s achingly familiar, and Andrew can remember that soft tone from a bus ride nearly two decades ago. Neil likes to say it when he wants Andrew’s attention, as if Andrew is not always, always drawn to Neil the moment he enters a room.

“You’re blocking my view,” Andrew tells him. His mouth is still sweet from the KitKat, the space next to him colder than he’d like.

“Mmm,” agrees Neil. “You do enjoy watching  _ Discovery Channel _ commercials for glorified dumpster-diving.”

Andrew snaps his fingers at him impatiently. “Of course I do, I have to see your trash ass every day.”

“You  _ like _ my trash ass,” Neil shoots back, a lazy smile working its way across his face. Andrew glares at him and very pointedly does not let his gaze drift down, to where Neil’s trash ass is being hugged by his sleep shorts.

And at last Neil caves in, crawling into Andrew’s space and turning towards him like a flower to the sun. It still makes Andrew’s stomach feel hot, as if countless fusion explosions are going off there and all he can think is that Neil’s hair smells like the vanilla bean shampoo Andrew had bought for him during his last ice cream run. His fingers tangle themselves into the loose fabric of Neil’s shirt - actually, it might be Andrew’s - and he can’t bring himself to focus on the show as it resumes.

“Now you’re just being distracting,” he mutters, leaning in so his nose is buried in the crook of Neil’s neck. With his glasses laying on their bedside table, he doesn’t have to worry about Neil’s hair getting caught in the frames. It also means that he has to squint in order to see the shit-eating grin Cerberus gives him as she jumps onto the couch cushions, where she knows Neil wouldn’t have the heart to let him shove her off.

And maybe in any other moment Andrew might be inclined to prove her wrong, but Neil is tugging him up for a kiss and he doesn’t mind enough to pick this particular fight. He doesn’t care either, especially with Neil’s lips sliding languidly across his own and their bodies pressed together along their sides. One of Neil’s hands slips under Andrew’s shirt to skim over the pudge of his stomach, and the coolness of a metal band most definitely does not make him purr into Neil’s mouth. The hand stays even when they break away, Cerberus whining loudly about the lack of attention doled out on her.

“Aw, baby,” Neil croons, the corner of his mouth curling up as he leans over to boop the tip of Cerberus’ nose. Andrew pretends that his heart hadn’t stuttered in the single second he’d thought Neil was talking to  _ him _ .

“I’m not kissing you if you kiss the dog,” Andrew tells him.

A pretty, gasping noise as Neil laughs. He nestles into Andrew’s side, his hand still stroking his stomach as if  _ Andrew _ was the pet. Cerberus rests her head on the curve of Neil’s hip and for a brief, horribly undignified moment, Andrew wants to be in her place. Instead, he wraps his arm around Neil’s shoulders to pull him closer, no longer awed but no less pleased by how they fit into each other.

They’re quiet for a while, and the only sounds come from the TV and Cerberus’ noisy breathing as she drifts off. Neil’s fingers take to twisting in the trail of hair leading into Andrew’s pants - not tugging enough to hurt - so Andrew retaliates by dipping below Neil’s waistband and brushing the blunt edges of his nails along his ass, light enough to make him shiver. Twenty, even ten years ago they wouldn’t have done this without permission and intent and clear lines, but right in this moment they’re content to trust each other.

“You know,” Neil whispers, once the next commercial break starts. “I think I’m getting old.”

“Really,” says Andrew drily. “What makes you think that?”

There’s a pause, a sigh, and then, “I never thought I’d ever get the chance to be old.”

Andrew pulls out his hand so they’re doing something that can almost be called a cuddle. He likes the awe in Neil’s voice, the steadiness of their breaths, even the background ticking of their cheap clock. Most of all, he likes the way his own mind is turning over the concept, the realization that yes, they’re becoming  _ old _ and one day they’ll be gross and wrinkly and toothless. They’ve survived and found their reasons for living, even though neither of them had expected to live past their twenties.

Without really meaning to, he pulls Neil’s hand out from under his shirt and traces the simple band absentmindedly. On a whim he brings it up to press a reverent kiss to the metal as Neil hums in contentment. His own ring, usually worn on a chain under his clothes, is lying next to his glasses a room away, because Andrew doesn't need the familiar weight to remind him of what he has.

“Is there a reason why you brought this up?” Andrew finally asks, carefully threading their fingers together over his lap. Cerberus snorts in her sleep.

“Not really,” Neil says, a hint of a smile only seen because Andrew’s completely given up on watching TV. “My legs were beginning to cramp up so I started thinking about my knees, which were kinda bothering me during my run - I might need to wear a brace next game - then I realized that over the course of the whole day I’ve managed to crack my neck, wrist, knuckles, hip, and ankles. I think my elbow needs to crack, actually, since it’s been feeling weird lately.” He’s quiet for a moment, then continues with, “My back constantly aches and all I can think of is the way we used to make fun of Coach for complaining about all of his joint pain.”

“But you’re still fine,” Andrew guesses, because Neil is still horribly predictable. He doesn’t mention that his own shoulders have been acting up during the past few games, since then Neil would bother him about going to have that checked out. Neil is a fucking hypocrite, he thinks with something that’s close to affection. 

“Of course,” Neil says. “I have you. And the Foxes.”

They haven't been Foxes for years, but Neil’s always been the nostalgic sort. Andrew finds that he’s been becoming more and more nostalgic too, even missing some of his old teammates now that he doesn’t have to see them every day. He doesn’t want to think too hard on it though, and carefully wiggles out from under Neil, who is a lot more draped over him than he thought, and presses a kiss to his forehead. 

“I’m making hot chocolate,” he announces. “Want anything?”

“It’s too late for caffeine,” Neil complains, which yes, is completely a sign that he’s becoming old. Andrew, who has gained the Fox kids’ affection by remaining young at heart, finds that the sugar crash outdoes any of the meager caffeine in his hot cocoa mix.

All the same, he pulls Neil’s favourite mug from the drying rack as well, and sends both of them into the microwave full with water. There’s a box of tea bags that help Neil sleep, and Andrew likes the smell. He dumps in more mix than necessary into his own mug while waiting for Neil’s to seep, and comes back to find that his husband has collapsed sideways in his absence. 

“Really,” Andrew says dryly. “I'm going to sit on your face.”

“Mmm, maybe when I have more energy,” Neil tells him with a naughty grin, pulling himself back up slowly to avoid waking Cerberus. Andrew hopes in vain that the steam’s blurring out his blush because goddamnit, he’s in his forties and still horribly weak to Neil’s rare hints of dirty talk.

Neil carefully eases Cerberus’ head off him so he’s fully upright, and reaches out to take his mug while Andrew tries to sit without his knees creaking. The sound of explosions and gleeful cheers echo from the speakers around them - Andrew likes the luxury of surround systems and Neil likes the opportunity to shell out money to treat him - and Andrew thinks that this is something worth fighting and surviving for. 

He noisily slurps down his hot cocoa and ignores Neil’s little huff of laughter. Their thighs are pressed together even though they’re both careful to keep their elbows from bumping, and outside a car alarm is going off. Before long Andrew’s mug is empty save for the gritty bits of whatever didn't dissolve, and he sets it down with a soft  _ thud _ before deciding that it's Neil’s turn to be leaned against for a change. His fingers run idly along the seams of the couch cushion, and there’s something soothing about the scritching noises his nails make.

“What are you going to do?” Andrew finally asks. The words burst out like he’s been holding them in for years, and maybe he has. “When you retire.”

“Who says I'm retiring?” Neil responds impishly, his smile curving around the lip of his mug. “I could keep playing Exy until I die.”

It’s not funny since Neil has, in fact, nearly died multiple times because of Exy, and Andrew tells him so.

“Fine,” Neil says, maybe a touch shamed. “I could coach. Or volunteer or something.”

Andrew isn't even surprised. “As long as you're coaching the same league as Kevin’s Tigers,” he says, just because he likes watching Kevin lose, even by proxy. 

Neil hums thoughtfully. “The famous Josten-Day rivalry transcending generations, sounds fun. What about you?”

Without them noticing,  _ Mythbusters _ had already finished and the channel is switching into something with far fewer explosions. Andrew thinks about the possibilities - they have enough money to comfortably live out the rest of their lives - and about everything that he never thought he’d have. He thinks about foster care and foster homes that were never really homes, about Bee and Wymack and chances that he hadn't even believed in. 

He thinks about the little idea that's been wiggling around his mind, about Robin and about being able to help fix a broken system in a broken world. 

“Volunteer or something,” Andrew eventually says. Neil makes another humming noise, and takes a sip of tea. 

“We have time to work it out,” he says, and Andrew likes the way he emphasizes  _ time _ . After years of countdowns, they're finally counting up.

Even though it's chilly outside, the cocoa settles a warmth in Andrew’s stomach and the weight of Neil along his side is better than any blanket. They absently watch whatever’s on - neither of them are paying attention - until Neil’s little sips finally empty his mug.

Their feet bump together when he gets up, and Andrew wordlessly passes him his own mug. He stares a little shamelessly at the strip of skin Neil reveals when he stretches up, and reaches for the remote to turn the TV off. Cerberus is grunting in her sleep, and Andrew considers waking her up before deciding that he doesn't really care enough about the couch to deal with her trying to sneak into their room. Neil’s still cleaning up the mess Andrew made on the counter  and rinsing out their mugs, so Andrew creeps up behind him and brushes the sides of his arms light enough that he can feel goosebumps form under his fingertips. It's a sign of how comfortable they’ve become that Neil only relaxes at his touch, and Andrew presses his forehead into the space between Neil’s shoulder blades. 

“Bed?” Neil asks. 

“Sleep,” Andrew agrees, which does not necessarily mean that they won't be doing other bed activities later. 

“You need to let go of me,” Neil says.

“You need to work harder on arm day,” Andrew says with an emphasizing squeeze, but moves back anyways. Neil turns towards him with a little frown on his face, and Andrew uses his thumb to swipe it away, before tilting Neil’s head down to kiss him. 

“Says the man who always skips cardio,” Neil murmurs against his lips as his hands - wet and cold because Andrew’s blocking the towels - come up to gently trace Andrew’s jaw. “C’mon, before we end up having sex in the kitchen. Again.”

It had been a messy affair, and the days when they could stay up past midnight playing Exy are over - Andrew’s eyelids are already feeling heavy. He sighs into their last kiss before pulling away, tugging at the hem of Neil’s shirt - which really  _ is _ Andrew’s - to lead him into the bedroom. 

“Keep your wet hair to your own pillow this time,” Andrew says, climbing in first like always. Neil takes up the other side of the bed, and the rustle of the sheets is actually sort of comforting.

“Hey,” Neil says again, once the blanket’s thrown over them and Andrew’s clammy feet are sucking the warmth from his own. He needs to stop saying it like that, because Andrew’s mind tends to get whisked away to glaring sunlight glinting off auburn hair and a sweet smile on a not-so-sweet day. “We’re getting old. Together, I mean.”

“Aging hasn’t made you any quieter,” Andrew grumbles, and their hands find each other in the darkness.

Other than their breathing, it’s completely silent.

**Author's Note:**

> comments super appreciated!! come say hi on [tumblr](http://broship-addict.tumblr.com) where i also post art and other writing bits :)


End file.
